My great aunt Jean died yesterday. She was a quiet and gentle old lady and I didn't really know her too well. She was my father's mother's older sister and we'd see her usually at dinner with my grandparents or at Christmas when they came to our house. My brothers and I used to talk about her limbs seeming fake. Her hair was probably fake--we knew that--but her body seemed fake too. Anyway, it happened over a few days and the way my mom described it this morning made it sound really horrible. Horrible and not fake at all.

����So, good-bye to Aunt Jean.

����Related, was my realization last night that every season has its moment, in which I think "this is my favorite season." Last night I was in the passenger seat; we were gliding through Alexandria backstreets and everything was so silent. And I thought, "Dead." I mean, I know it's not dead yet, but "dying" isn't a better word. I think it's just imminent, and rolling, and soon. And I hope Aunt Jean wasn't afraid.

����In happier news from home, my brother bought a truck. Yaw hoo.


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